Fan day
by starryclimes
Summary: Alfred and Matthew were best friends in Junior High. They were rivals and had secret crushes on each other in High school. Everything went wrong during the championship hockey game between their high schools, and now Alfred wants to fix things. Problem is, will Matthew get beyond the past? ONE SHOT.


**A/N: I did a ton of research for this universe, but already I am working on so many stories and AUs (mainly Hero right now) that I am not going to even attempt this one yet. I hope you all like this. Please review! Everything belongs to Hima. Beta'd by Enid_black. **

Fan Day

"Hey," The security guards that came up to Alfred looked sheepish and earnest at the same time, "Hey, man, if you want to go to the front of the line, we can do that."

Alfred just laughed. "Ah, naw, man, I'm staying right here. Where else can I stay and talk to such lovely girls for hours with good reason?" The women he was referring to giggled and laughed, which created an even larger grin on the blond haired, blue-eyed man.

"Alfred. You should go up, we might not even make it to see them," one of the girls said, worried.

"No way, I'm totally talking with you guys. If I make it, I make it. I knew I should have gotten in line a couple hours earlier." He was ignoring the guards now, who shuffled awkwardly not knowing what to do.

"Okay, well, just wanted to let you know, sir."

"Yeah, thanks guys." Alfred just waved them off. His jersey waiting to be signed was draped across his legs, and he shifted in his wheelchair to lean towards the women to continue their conversation.

The smaller brunette, was decked out in a pink jersey and had a small pink hockey stick to sign. "Oh, yeah, I got to meet him after that game against the Canucks, he was so crazy hot. I just couldn't even speak, but he totally took time to sign something for me."

"Oh man, I know! I am so excited to see him. I think he's so hot too!" Alfred leaned forward, and grinned without shame.

The girls tittered.

"Oh, Al, tell us it's not true! Not fair!"

"Told you all the good ones are gay or married."

Alfred blushed. "Naw, just a bit of a crush that's all."

The girls keened with delight. "You should totally ask him out!"

Al smiled, and the world was a bit brighter. "Matthew Williams? Maybe I will."

Matthew enjoyed these events, really he did. They just grew tedious, that's all. He loved his fans, he really did. But after the first thousand had shuffled by, the items to be signed were the same. So when the jersey was thrown in front of him. He put his pen to sign, and did his routine look up at the fan, and ask, "for who?" and looked straight into the face of Alfred F. Jones.

He just stared as if this was a dream, or something. It wasn't every day that one of his best friends from junior high, and rival in high school came through the 'meet the fans' lines. He came back to reality as Alfred's perfect smiling lips said, "Ah, hey Mattie, uh, this one's for my mom, so can you write her name? Or something? I mean, just your John Hancock would be great."

It was that brilliant smile Alfred had. The words 'hand' and 'cock' almost made Matthew start having those dirty fantasies he had in junior year, the ones that made him wake up drenched with and change his sheets in the middle of the night.

Brilliant blue eyes were taking him in, and finally his voice seemed to function, "Al? Al. Uh, yeah. Yeah, your mom. Sure." He signed on his number emblazoned on the back of the jersey.

"So they let us have two things to sign, right? So here's mine."

A rough leather sketchbook was handed his way. Alfred made sure it was only the inside cover and the front page that showed. The rest of the sketchbook tightly tamped down so that it was realm of mystery.

"Can I see it? Your sketchbook?" Curiosity hit Matthew. Al had never done art in High School, not that he knew of. If this was a dream caused from the monotony of the signing, and he was really just snoozing as his teammates continued signing, he was going to go with it.

Alfred blushed, pink coming high on his cheeks, and Matthew had to bite the inside of his cheek. He rocked his wheelchair nervously. "Uh, no. Um, that's mine. I've, um, it's private. But this page; that would be so cool!" The last sentence burst out happily from the nervous ones before it.

Matthew just stared at the wheelchair now, and something raw and ugly and painful started gnawing deep in his gut.

_The High School championship game. _

_The rival school captain staring at him with those impossibly blue eyes through the plastic helmet for the face off. _

_The tied up game. _

_The legal hit, that caused that rival to fall, Alfred to fall down, not to get up. _

_Matt watching the stretcher come out on the ice to carry Al off. _

_Taking a penalty, even for a clean hit, and the guilt and worry somewhat assuaged by it. _

_That is, until he heard from mutual friends that evening that Al had broke his back and would never walk again. _

_The blood money he had given to Al's fund throughout the years. _

_His move from university to the NHL. _

_Never wanting to even think of his friend who had the same scholarship never playing hockey again._

When he met Al's eyes, he saw a flash of anger, something he would know because they had known each other since childhood. And he internally cringed, maybe after all these years… "Just sign the sketchbook, Matt." It came out evenly, and even a bit kindly.

"Yeah, sure, Al." Temptation started up again, and he tried to flip the pages.

"Haha! Nice try." Alfred's strong hands held the book open to the right page. He still had that scar from sixth grade along his thumb.

Matthew grinned at Alfred, and watched as a flush rose on his face again. He squiggled his marker across the vellum, and Alfred just smiled at him. Matthew felt his face burn.

"Thanks, Matt!" Alfred smiled, "It was good to see you again."

_I should have written my phone number inside_, Matt mourned internally, as he suddenly looked up to see the backlog of fans that were patiently waiting.

He saw Alfred wheeling away, strong biceps rippling, and Matthew wanted to run after him. There was this feeling gnawing at his stomach. It was something that he had ignored before and had let him miss out on things. It was fate warning him. He could ignore it. But did he? His stomach twisted.

His eyes almost crossed as he was presented with another jersey. He could ignore it. The feeling burned, making his lungs grow tighter and tighter.

He would miss his chance forever.

A small girl handed him a miniature hockey stick with his number on it.

He signed the stick and felt like if he let this go, he would regret it for the rest of his life.

He stood up, and rushed out the door, security following worriedly. Ignoring the men stalking him, the fans calling out to him, and the security trying to bar the fans, he ran towards the man rolling down the hallway of the stadium.

"Al!" Matthew called. "Hey, wait, Al!"

Alfred turned in his wheelchair; finally realizing the yelling was directed at him.

He saw Matthew standing there, obviously agitated, and Matt blurted out to him, "Hey, hey, you wanna get together sometime?"

Alfred grinned, butterflies in his stomach, but then his hope fell with the next words Matt said.

"You know, we can talk."

Talk. Alfred thought angrily. Talk, it meant that Matthew just wanted to make up for things. Just be interested because of the thing that tied them together. So, pulling a smile, and hope, from deep within, he said cheekily, "Sorry. I can only get together if we go to dinner together. Or coffee. Or maybe a movie?" The way he said it meant it wouldn't be a casual get together.

Matthew Williams flushed. A blush that rose all the way to the tips of his wavy blonde hair. Alfred gloated inside; Matt was still as shy as he had been in junior high and high school. "Yeah," Matt said faintly. "Yeah, let me give you my number."

Alfred grinned, and said as Matt wrote his numbers inside the proffered sketchbook, "Look at them apples."

They stared at each other, and Matt groaned. "Al. That's the cheesiest pick-up line I've ever heard."

"Good," Al promptly said, "That means all those idiots never got to you first. It's my turn." He blatantly looked Matt up and down, and then turned away cheerfully yelling, "Better get back there and sign those things, super star." He waved and started whistling.

Matthew Williams watched his high school crush wheel away, and everything in his head was running a million miles a minute. Self-hatred, guilt, anger, elation, happiness, he had scored Alfred Jones's number, he was going on a date with Alfred, he was reliving every bad moment, he was watching his friend wheeling away half-paralyzed, and he had hundreds of his fans baying for his imminent return. Feeling like he was going to pass out, as if he had done too many Suicide drills, he walked slowly back to his table accompanied by security.


End file.
